


Upside Down

by simpleandpure22



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6976237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simpleandpure22/pseuds/simpleandpure22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day is enough to turn everything upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ginterwonderland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginterwonderland/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Hanna! I hope you like this. 
> 
> Steno is one of a kind, and there's way too few stories about them. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy! <3

Bernd pushes his way through the crowd, mumbling ‘excuse me’ everytime someone is looking at him. Breathing in relief after he has passed them, he continues to walk towards the corridor and into one of the game rooms. This hotel is huge, and it has more than one. Once inside, he scans the room and sees that the person he’s looking for is not there. _Okay then_. He smiles at Mesut and Toni who are standing near the door and swiftly walks out again.

He finally sees him near the swimming pool, about to leave. Bernd calls out, “Julian, wait.” Sitting on one of the lounge chairs, Julian Draxler looks up. Bernd tells him, “Sorry. I mean Julian Brandt,” grinning apologetically.

Draxler nods and averts his eyes back at his book. Bernd strides quickly towards the other Julian on the other side of the pool. “Don’t start,” Bernd says when Julian bursts out laughing. “It’s not my fault that your name is the most common name in the whole fucking Germany.”

Julian laughs even harder. “Says someone with the name of a 60 year-old,” he says. Bernd rolls his eyes, but doesn’t retort back. Julian sits down on one lounge chair, Bernd settles on the one next to him.

“How was it so far?” Bernd asks, thinking how exciting it must be for Julian to be called up to the _A-Mannschaft_ for the first time.

“It’s great. I’m not gonna worry about making the final squad or not. Whatever happens, it’ll be a good experience for me,” Julian replies, with a smile. “Everything is nice, my roommate is nice. I can’t wait for the training tomorrow.”

Across the pool, Bernd sees a few more of their teammates. The weather is perfect to be outside and chill out, before all the hard work starts. “Who’s your roommate?”

“Julian Weigl.”

Bernd can’t hold back his laughter. “Seriously? Man, they do have a sense of humour after all.”

Julian merely shrugs. “Who cares, I’ve known him from the U21. He’s cool.” He glances at Bernd. “Who’s yours?”

Silence, and then Bernd says in a stiff voice, “Who else?”

Julian’s eyes widen for a second before he shakes his head in disbelief. “No... Really?” He tries to look sympathetic, but the amused smile on his face fails him. “Bernd, I’m sorry, man. But, try not to kill him, okay?”

Bernd ignores him. “In U21 you could persuade people to switch rooms. Good old days,” he says dryly. “And don’t worry; getting myself into trouble is the last thing on my mind. Köpke told us earlier that he expected us to leave whatever we had going on in the past behind. Long story short, we should be team players and behave.” It shouldn’t be hard when neither of them has a chance to play, anyway. Although when they do, Bernd suspects that Marc is _still_ ahead of him.

It’s amazing what league and Champions League titles can do, isn’t it?

“And what did Marc say?” Julian asks.

“Nothing.” And he knows Köpke didn’t expect an answer either. The message is clear. _Get yourself into trouble and you’d be in the next flight to Germany._ There isn’t a shortage of promising goalkeepers. _You’re not irreplaceable._

This time Julian looks genuinely sympathetic. “It’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly, as though he is the older one.

Bernd sees Karim on the other side of the pool, grinning at the two of them. It feels good to have his Leverkusen teammates around. He crosses all the fingers he has for both Karim and Julian to make it to the final squad. “I hope so.”

~*~

Bernd hasn’t seen much of his roommate since they arrived. He saw him once when they checked in, and then when Köpke talked to both of them. The exchange they had when they went back to their room was short and rather polite.

“Do you mind if I take this side?” Marc said then, walking towards the side of the bed that was closer to the wall. A double bed that was. Bernd didn’t have a problem with it; it was just a bed. He guessed most of the time they would be too exhausted to care about where they slept.

“Go ahead,” Bernd replied, placing his suitcase next to his side of the bed.

That was pretty much it. They were trying to be civil to each other. Obviously no one would expect them to be best friends, but Bernd supposed he could tolerate him. And he could see that Köpke’s words had the same effect on Marc. Once they made it to Löw’s black book, they could basically kiss the national team goodbye, no matter how good they were. Champions League titles wouldn’t help either. _No pressure._

Then Marc left the room, saying he was going to meet with some others downstairs. He probably also said where he was going, but Bernd wasn’t really listening.

Which is why he’s a bit surprised now to see Marc sit with Thomas, André, Sebastian, and some others, playing cards, with shot glasses in front of them—half of them are empty. What the hell were they doing; do they want to get kicked out of the team already? He doesn’t think that drinking is strictly prohibited, but on the first night, really?

“Guys, what the fuck?” Bernd turns around and sees Marco come approaching them in fast pace, an unusually deep frown on his face. “What did you do to him?”

“We were just playing cards, and Marc pretty sucked at it so he had to drink a few shots,” André explains, whilst the others mumble in agreement. “We didn’t know he’s such a lightweight.” Next to Sebastian, Marc makes an incoherent sound. His face is getting redder by each minute.

Marco doesn’t look impressed. He takes Marc’s hand, pulling him up. “Yeah well, you do now,” he mutters and then looks at Bernd. “Help me to take him back to the room, Bernd. He’s your roommate, right?”

 _What?_ Bernd wants to protest; he’s not Marc’s babysitter. But Marco is still looking at him, and Bernd once again remembers what Köpke told them. Fine… he won’t want Marc to get kicked out of the team already, personal feelings aside. So, he nods and takes Marc’s other arm, wrapping it around his neck. Any decent person will do this.

Marco gives him a thankful smile, and together they walk to the lift. Apart from a few drunken remarks from Marc about how bright the lights are, and how funny Marco’s hair looks, the trip is pretty uneventful. Until when they reach their floor and step out of the lift.

Bernd’s body tense when he hears a familiar voice from the other corridor. “Shit. Oliver,” Marco curses under his breath.

 _Great._ Exactly what they need.  “Can you, maybe, distract him or something?” Bernd asks Marco.

“Sure,” Marco says, glancing at Marc before averting his eyes back at Bernd. “Thanks, Bernd.”

Bernd merely nods. And then Marco quickly leaves, and shortly after that Bernd can hear his voice when he talks to Oliver. When they have disappeared behind the wall, Bernd releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Come on,” he tells Marc softly.

Instead of complying, Marc looks at him and says pretty coherently, “Your eyes are beautiful.”

Bernd doesn’t have time to think, they need to get into their room as soon as possible, before anyone else walks in. “Yours, too,” he blurts automatically, unsure if he means it or if it’s just an attempt to make Marc walk. Although if he’s being completely honest with himself, Marc does have pretty eyes.

Marc seems contented with his reply and doesn’t put up any resistance when Bernd leads him to their room. _Good._ Once they’re inside, he helps Marc sit on the bed and takes off his shoes.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says, striding towards the bathroom and fills a glass with water. When he’s back in the room, Marc is still sitting on the bed. Bernd carefully hands him the glass, and he drinks the whole content in one go. “Do you want more?” Bernd asks.

Marc shakes his head and smiles, looking deceivingly sober. “Thanks.”

Bernd takes the glass from his hand and places it on the nightstand. Then he gently pushes Marc down until he lies on the bed, tucking him in. He’s painfully aware that Marc’s eyes never leave his face. _What the hell, Bernd?_ His heart rate shouldn’t be this high near fucking Marc-André ter Stegen, from fucking Barcelona. Against his better judgement, Bernd lets his gaze wander down to Marc’s face. Apart from his red cheeks, he actually looks quite sober, and it does nothing to slow down the rush in Bernd’s chest. Marc’s eyes are now fixed on Bernd’s lips.

_Fuck._

Before he does something he might regret for his whole life, Bernd gulps and retreats, his back nearly hits the bathroom window. “Sleep… Marc,” he mumbles. “You’ll—feel better in the morning.”

He’s about to reach the door when he hears Marc say, “You hate me,” his tone soft.  Bernd freezes in his steps. _What?_ “You can’t stand being around me,” Marc continues.

Bernd flushes in guilt. He shouldn’t be surprised that Marc noticed it; Bernd didn’t exactly try to be discreet. And who could blame him, really? Given their history in all these years, always fighting for one spot.

“I don’t hate you,” Marc says again. And Bernd wonders if he hears him wrong. “I’m not gonna lie; you’re frustrating most of the time, but I don’t... I can’t.”

This is too much. What is he supposed to do with this information? _Thanks, Marc, what a relief. Now can we go back to where we were before, please?_ Bernd exhales, slowly turning around. Marc’s eyes are closed, and his breathing even.

Bernd lets himself observe the sleeping man for a moment. Things are shifting between him and Marc, and he doesn’t like it. It feels weird—foreign. He’s used to think that Marc can’t stand him, as much as the other way around. But now? It’s a lot for his brain to comprehend. Marc most likely won’t remember anything in the morning. But Bernd will.

His steps are muffled by the thick carpet as he walks away, closing the door behind him.

~*~

The first thing Marc notices when he opens his eyes is the pounding headache. And then the sour taste in his mouth. God, what happened last night? He closes his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. The memories are distant, and they’re more like fragments. He remembers the card game, and that he drank two or three shots, which was enough to get him wasted, how embarrassing. Now everyone knows he’s a lightweight. Surely he’ll get teased about it.

And then he vaguely remembers how he got up here. Marco and… Bernd. He remembers Bernd got him something to drink, actually being really nice. And that’s all Marc can recall. He hopes he didn’t tell Bernd anything stupid.

Fighting an urge to groan, Marc rubs his temple. He doesn’t want to wake the other man, who seems to sleep peacefully next to him. Marc watches him for a moment, before snapping himself out of it. _Stop it, Marc, watching someone sleep is creepy._

The digital clock on the table shows 4:26 AM, way too early to be up. Marc then decides that a shower will make him feel less like shit. He carefully disentangles himself from the covers and rolls out of bed. The moment he steps inside the shower, he remembers that he hasn’t closed the window blinds. But it doesn’t matter, Bernd is asleep anyway.

The hot water feels heavenly on his skin. Marc lets out a blissful groan when the water hits his sore muscles, it’s _so_ good. He takes his time, feeling significantly better when he’s done. The mirror is slightly foggy, so he reaches out to clean it with his hand. When he pulls his hand back, his elbow accidentally nudges the soap bottle, sending it down to the floor.

Marc curses, quickly picking it up. The bottle is small, but in the stillness of the room, it feels too loud. He hopes it doesn’t wake Bernd up. But it seems that Bernd is still lying in bed, much to his relief. Marc dries his body with a towel and then wraps it around his waist. Now when is breakfast time again? Eight o’clock? There’s still three hours to go, he can sleep a bit more. Checking his reflection one more time, he runs a hand through his damp hair and walks out of the bathroom.

~*~

Bernd wakes up in a jolt. _What was that?_ Feeling disoriented, he blinks and sees that Marc is not there on the bed anymore. When he looks at the bathroom window, his still clouded brain is relieved to see Marc in the bathroom. At least Marc wasn’t up to anything reckless.

Then he sees Marc dry his body, his hair, and back to his body again. Seconds pass, and Bernd is still watching, half-awake half-asleep. _You know, it might be a good idea to stop staring like a maniac,_ a sensible voice in his head says. And he does want to stop… but for some reasons he can’t.

He rolls over onto his other side just in time as Marc emerges from the bathroom. _So close._ Bernd doesn’t dare move until he feels that Marc is back in bed. Whoever has the idea of putting them into double beds can go fuck themselves. Bernd is painfully aware of the heat of Marc’s body behind him; every fibre of his being is awake. He inwardly curses everything he can think of. His body is reacting to Marc-André ter Stegen, what kind of sick joke is this?

~*~

It takes a while for Bernd to fall asleep again, and it’s not a nice feeling. He groans in frustration when a noise wakes him up—an alarm of sorts. “Fucking turn it off!”

“It’s your phone, actually,” Marc replies calmly.

Bernd opens his eyes and meeting Marc’s. The phone is still going off, the noise making him insane. Bernd reaches out to grab his phone from the nightstand and turns the damned alarm off, before dropping his phone back on the nightstand. It lands in a thud. But now the silence that follows feels suffocating, as the recollection of last night/this early morning’s events slowly comes back.

Marc is watching him, doesn’t seem to know what to say either. Bernd doesn’t blame him. Everything between them has changed so rapidly this past day, it would throw anyone off.

Bernd clears his throat. “How are you feeling? Any hangover?”

“No. I’m fine,” Marc says. “Thanks.”

And another silence.

Their gaze is still locked. Once in a while Bernd will look at some random object like the ceiling or the window behind Marc, but his eyes are always drawn back to Marc’s. He curls his fingers around the covers as he feels a strong urge to touch Marc’s face. _Goodness gracious, what the fuck is wrong with him?_ The double bed must have messed with his head.

“Thank you for helping me last night,” Marc says again.

“Do you—remember what happened?” Bernd replies, feeling grateful of the distraction, before he loses control of his own body.

Marc looks thoughtful. “Parts of it, but not much. Did I say something stupid last night?” he lets out a wary smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

Bernd doesn’t exactly know what to tell him. But Marc is still waiting, so he has to say something. “No, you didn’t,” he starts. “You just said that you… didn’t hate me. Despite finding me frustrating most of the times.”

Marc seems to be a little more relaxed. “I meant it. I don’t think I ever hate you,” he says, and after a second he asks, “Do you hate me?”

“No.”

It surprises Bernd how easy it is for the word to leave his lips. He doesn’t even need to think it over. Marc’s eyes slightly widen, but he says nothing. “I always thought I did. But I don’t,” Bernd goes on. He has to let it out of his chest, before it dawns on him how weird it is to have a pillow talk with ter Stegen. “Maybe I’ve accepted that we’ll always cross paths.”

“Good to know,” Marc replies with an unreadable expression.

Before Bernd says anything, someone knocks on the door. “Bernd, are you up yet?” he vaguely hears.

Crawling out of bed, Bernd answers the door. Karim is standing there. “Mate, it’s a quarter to eight,” he says as soon as he sees Bernd.

“Shit,” Bernd mumbles. “Give us fifteen minutes.”

From behind him, Marc says, “Good morning,” sounding annoyingly calm.

Karim smiles at him, before looking back at Bernd and saying, “Hurry up,” and then he leaves.

Bernd turns on his heel and nearly collides with Marc. Muttering an apology, he rushes to his suitcase and pulls a fresh shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms. “I’ll take a quick shower. Just go to breakfast first if you want.”

“It’s okay. I’ll wait,” Marc says.

 _Well, fine._ Bernd enters the bathroom, and as he’s about to take his clothes off, he remembers about the window blinds. For a split second, he hesitates, but then he decides to let it open. He quickly strips and steps inside the shower stall, turning the tap on. His logic has seemed to abandon him since last night.

When Bernd leaves the bathroom, fully clothed, Marc is sitting on the bed. Their eyes meet. Marc’s face is pretty unreadable, but there’s a slight blush on his cheeks. It can only mean one thing. Bernd’s heart is pounding harder in his chest.

The air between them feels thick and heavy. Bernd doesn’t know what to say, and it seems neither does Marc. Feeling is a strange thing, isn’t it? It’s not something that can be explained. Two days ago Bernd couldn’t care less about Marc, and now everything has turned upside down.

Another knock on the door startles them. “Coming,” Bernd shouts at the door, and then turns back to Marc. “Are you ready?” he asks.

Marc nods and slowly rises up from the bed. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.”

As they’re having breakfast, Bernd is sitting with Karim, Julian, Julian Weigl (yeah, weird), and Joshua. He’s trying not to let his gaze wander on Marc, who’s sitting on the next table, but so far he’s failing. And from what he can see, Marc is having the same problem. Bernd doesn’t dare think about what is going to happen once they’re alone in their room again tonight.

But, he’ll worry about it later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by the conversation Hanna and I had about the hotel room. The part where the people lying in bed can look inside the bathroom is true. xD It's too good to waste, so I simply had to write it.
> 
> I also incorporated the ficlet prompt request into this one shot: _things you said when you were drunk._
> 
> Steno is tricky for me to get right, which is why I didn't want to write about them before. But I hope this doesn't turn out so bad. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on popular demand, I decided to continue this. xD 
> 
> Also because the more I read it, the more I thought it needed a real ending. So there will be three chapters in total. I hope you guys enjoy it. The Steno moments we get this Euro are fantastic, I'm very grateful, and inspired. :D

The first training is always exciting, and draining. Although the second one is more likely because Marc is always nearby. Bernd is really trying to concentrate and just see this as another training session with the team. But this new situation with Marc is confusing as hell. Bernd still wants to do his best and show everyone—Marc included—that he deserves to be the one behind Neuer, yet he is way too conscious of Marc’s eyes following his every move, and it’s fucking distracting.

It’s getting worse when the two of them have to train together and Köpke is doing some exercises with Neuer. Bernd groans when he reacts lousily late to the ball Marc throws at him. The ball barely touches his fingertips and goes in. _What the actual fuck?_ It’s not even a difficult ball. To make matters worse, Neuer and Köpke stop at the exact moment and look at them. Swallowing his embarrassment, Bernd collects the ball from behind the net and throws it back at Marc.

“Are you okay?” Marc asks as he catches the ball. Bernd doesn’t like the genuine concern in his voice. He should be thrilled that his biggest rival made a ridiculous mistake.

“Yeah,” Bernd replies curtly, not meeting Marc’s eyes.

When it’s his turn to throw, Bernd tells himself to get it together. Before he realises what he’s doing, he grits his teeth, looks up and throws the ball hard. Probably too hard. Marc wasn’t ready; he was looking down, fastening his glove and the ball hits him right in the head. Bernd watches in horror as Marc lets out a surprised cry.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Bernd dashes towards him. “Marc, I’m sorry… Are you hurt? I’m—I don’t…” he starts, doesn’t quite know what to say. Marc is still holding his head, slightly wincing in pain, but he gives Bernd a little smile.

“I’m fine.” He drops his hand, and Bernd sees a red mark on the left side of his forehead.

Before Bernd can respond, he hears a familiar voice. “What’s going on?” Köpke is walking towards them, just when Bernd thought it couldn’t have been worse.

“Nothing,” Marc says in a calm voice, as though he didn’t just get hit by a ball in the head—with so much force. “I looked down when Bernd was about to throw the ball. Yes, stupid of me.” Bernd looks at him with wide eyes. _What?_ He’s about to open his mouth to say that it wasn’t Marc’s fault, but Marc shakes his head very subtly when Köpke averts his eyes at Bernd.

Bernd prays that his guilt isn’t shown on his face too much. “It’s only the first day, indeed, but I expected better from both of you,” Köpke says. “Bernd, you’ll do the next exercise with Manu, and Marc with me.” He glances at Bernd and then at Marc, “Come on,” before walking towards the other side of the pitch.

“I’m sorry,” Bernd tells Marc quietly, once Köpke is out of earshot.

Marc watches him for a moment before smiling. “Don’t worry about it.” And then he goes to follow Köpke. Bernd merely stands there, as if glued to the ground, until Neuer comes and takes Marc’s place on the goal.

~*~

For the rest of the training Bernd manages to loosen up a little bit, most importantly he doesn’t throw a ball at Neuer’s face. When they join the rest of the team for the running part, he feels even better. He runs next to Julian and Weigl (sounds really stupid), with Karim, Emre, and Shkodran behind them. Marc is also in that group, which is even better, because Bernd doesn’t need to see him the whole time.

When they’re done for the day, Bernd is one of the first to shower and thus the first one to finish. Emre jokingly asks why he’s in such a hurry. Bernd smiles and replies that it’s hot outside and he doesn’t like the feel of clinging sweat on his skin. It’s not completely a lie, though, he only leaves the main reason out—which is to leave the changing room before Marc finishes showering.

Julian is also done. Bernd waits impatiently as the blond rumbles through his locker to find his damned earphones. “Come on,” Bernd urges him. “You’ll survive without your earphones for _one_ day.”

“I’m sure I left them here this morning,” Julian mumbles, clearly not listening. He lifts a shirt and looks under it, but still nothing.

“Goodness,” Bernd groans. “I’ll be in the dining room.”

Before he moves, Julian looks over at him. “What’s wrong with you, man? What’s the rush?”

 _Because I don’t want to be here when Marc walks in, half naked, with wet hair, and maybe wet other parts of his body too… It’s the last thing I need._ But, of course he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he shrugs. “I’m starving.”

Julian lets out a sigh. “Fine.” But before he closes his locker, he suddenly says. “Wait, maybe they’re in my jacket pocket.” He takes his blue jacket from inside the locker and checks its pocket. “Bingo!” He grins, retrieving the earphones.

“Great. Now let’s go.”

~*~

After dinner, Bernd plays FIFA with Julian. He wins four of the five matches and Julian doesn’t want to play anymore. Then they move to the other game room and play table tennis until almost half past ten.

“That’s it, I’m going to bed,” Julian exclaims, putting the bat on the table.

“It’s not that late yet,” Bernd says. “What about a card game?”

Julian doesn’t seem interested. “Nah, I’m tired. I think I’m going to bed.” He begins to walk towards the door, and Bernd follows him.

“Oh please. How old are you?” Bernd nudges his arm as they’re entering the lift. He can’t go back to his room now. There’s still a possibility that Marc is still up, and he’d rather not take that chance. Just thinking about being alone with Marc in that double bed makes his stomach lurch. “Just one round?” They can always start with one round, and if Julian lost, he’d demand another round. He’s a competitive little shit like that.

But Julian shakes his head, much to Bernd’s despair. “I’ll pass.” The lift stops at his floor and he turns to Bernd, patting his back. “See you tomorrow. Maybe you should sleep, too. Nearly everyone else has gone to bed.”

 _Right..._ Bernd forces a smile. “Goodnight.” After Julian walks out of the lift and the door closes, Bernd slumps against the wall. It looks like he has no choice but goes back to his room. Reluctantly, his fingers hover around the lift buttons and press his floor number.

When he tiptoes into his room, quietly closing the door behind him, he can see that Marc is lying in the bed, obviously asleep. Bernd breathes in relief. It takes a while for his eyes to get adjusted to the dim light, but he manages to open his suitcase and pulls a clean pair of boxers with as little noise as possible. Then he takes a shower in record time, probably too rushed that he doesn’t dry himself completely, but he’s too tired to care.

Slipping under the covers, Bernd switches off the bedside lamp on his side. The room is now almost completely dark, with only the light from the swimming pool area gently streams through the white curtains. Marc is having his back on him; Bernd can see the outline of his body, the curve of his neck and shoulder. Exhaling softly, he closes his eyes.

He needs to get used to this proximity, because God knows how long they’ll share a room. Although it’s way easier when only one of them is awake. He was half hoping that things would soon get back to how they were these past eight years, that yesterday was just his head messing with him. But that hope slowly fades away. Bernd isn’t stupid; he knows he is attracted to Marc—despite the absurdness of the situation. And if he reads the signs right, the feeling is mutual.

_How… fucked up._

He gently turns on his side, as far away from Marc as possible. Fucked up sounds about right. _Come on, Bernd, think_. He survived today, right? Apart from the minor incident on the goal, it actually went quite okay. A minimal contact with Marc is the answer. Bernd has waited for so long for this call-up; he’s not going to let this sudden complication with Marc ruin it.

~*~

For the next few days Bernd’s plan works. He wakes up early when Marc is still asleep and then leaves after a world-record quick shower. He only sees Marc in trainings and when they’re eating with the rest of the team. As he forces himself to focus and push unimportant matters aside, Bernd starts to do better in trainings. He still catches Marc looking at him at times, but he tries hard to ignore it. _Concentrate, work hard, and repeat._

During the free times, Bernd is almost always with Julian and sometimes Karim, whilst Marc is with Marco and Andre.  Like tonight when he’s in Julian and Julian’s room, playing chess. Joshua is also here, and keeps telling Bernd what to do.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Bernd finally loses his patience, when Joshua tries to move his bishop. “Fine, do as you wish. I’m out.” He rises up from the bed. Joshua grins, and takes his place. Julian stands up, too, leaving Weigl to play against Joshua.

“So, FIFA?” Julian asks.

“Sounds great.”

When they’re at the door, Julian says, “See you later,” before adding in a quieter voice, “lovebirds.”

Bernd tries to suppress his laugh, when Weigl looks up and says, “Hey, I heard that,” meanwhile Joshua is suddenly very busy with his chess pieces.

In the game room, Thomas, Jerome, Benni, and Mats are playing FIFA, so Bernd and Julian sit down on one of the sofas, talking about Jonathan’s new dog. Then a few more people walk in: Marco, Shkodran, and… Marc. Bernd sits upright before leaning back, one second later.

Shkodran sees them and says, “Is there a time where you two are _not_ together?” with a grin. Marco next to him chuckles, and Marc has an unreadable expression on his face as he looks at them.

“You’re just jealous that nobody wants to be with you all day,” Marco jokes, making Shkodran laugh. “Anyone up for a table tennis with Shkodran and me?” he asks, looking at Bernd, Julian, and then Marc.

Marc smiles faintly. “I’m rather tired,” he says. “I’m going to bed.”

Bernd’s gaze automatically flickers at him. When Marc looks back at him, he quickly averts his eyes at the table behind Marc. Everyone then says goodnight and Marc leaves the room. Bernd should feel relieved that he’s gone. But he doesn’t.

Julian wants to play table tennis against Marco and Shkodran, so Bernd joins them. At first they only play three sets, and Bernd and Julian win two out of three, but Marco isn’t happy with the defeat and demands another three sets. Bernd is fine with it, when he’s playing, he’s not thinking about Marc. And stopping now means he’ll have to come back to his room because it’s getting late.

But Julian only wants to play one more set, despite Marco’s protests. And Bernd and Julian win again. What can he say, they are pretty good.

“I’m going upstairs now, guys,” Julian says, grinning at Marco who still looks dissatisfied. He glances at Bernd, wordlessly asking if he’s going as well.

Bernd shakes his head. “I’ll play some more,” he says.

“Cool.” Marco’s face lights up. “Hey, Mario come and play with us,” he calls Mario who’s at the other side of the room. Mario nods and walks towards them.

Julian looks at Bernd. “Really? You said you woke up early this morning.”

“I’m not that tired,” Bernd replies. Well, it’s not completely true. He is pretty tired, but because of… reasons he can’t go back to his room yet.

“People would think you’re avoiding your roommate,” Julian says, in a joking tone. The others laugh at that, and Bernd forces himself to smile. _Fuck you, Julian._

“Funny,” Bernd says, keeping his voice flat. “So are we playing or not?”

Julian says goodnight and leaves, and the others continue with the match. Mario is by no means a bad player, but Bernd isn’t used to play with him. They don’t work well together as a team, and the result is that Marco and Shkodran win all the three sets.

When Bernd goes back to his room half an hour later, he is exhausted and his body sore. But at least as always, Marc is fast asleep. Bernd watches him for a moment, before dragging his feet to the bathroom for his usual late night rapid shower.

~*~

_This is… nice._

He gently moves his hand up and then down, the skin under his hand feels smooth and warm. Bernd hears a sharp intake of breath as his hand goes lower, but he can’t be bothered to think, and his clouded mind isn’t sure if he’s dreaming or not. It probably is a dream—too good to be true, this feeling of a warm and solid body against his. Bernd doesn’t remember how long since he felt this good.

He begins to open his eyes and a pair of blue eyes is staring back at him. Bernd blinks once, two times. Even in this weird state between wakefulness and sleep, he knows that he’s screwed up _._ His hand is resting on the small of Marc’s back, their faces only a few inches apart.

Marc seems to be fully awake. His eyes are clear and his lips part slightly. As Bernd comes to his senses, he notices that Marc’s hand lies on his upper arm. _This can’t be fucking happening_. Bernd must have missed his alarm because he went to bed late last night—and then wakes up with his hands on ter Stegen’s body. Whatever his subconscious is trying to tell him…

And neither of them has moved their hands yet.

Fuck it, he wants this. And from the way Marc’s gaze wanders to his lips for a long second before going back to his eyes, he’s not the only one. _He is so… close._ Bernd could just lean a bit forward and their lips would touch. His blood is rushing and his heart pounding. But he can’t... Not with Marc. It will only complicate everything between them even more, and he can’t afford to jeopardise his place in the team. _Come on, Bernd, get a grip._

Reluctantly, Bernd pulls his hand back. As though being shaken out of a trance, Marc moves his hand from Bernd’s arm and blinks a few times.

“I—” Bernd starts, edging closer to his side of the bed, further away from Marc, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He makes a gesture with his hand, doesn’t know what else to say. “Sorry.”

Marc shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t—I mean I could have…” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “I suppose it’s my fault, too.”

It doesn’t make Bernd feel better, but he absently nods. Then there is silence. Marc is still watching him, his gaze roams at Bernd’s face, sending a sensation to his belly. “Why are you avoiding me?” Marc asks in a soft voice.

Bernd looks at him, swallowing heavily. “This thing between us, this change… it’s weird, and complicated,” he croaks. He knows Marc understands what he means.

“It is for me, too, trust me” Marc says, sitting up and twisting the edge of the covers. “But avoiding me won’t change anything.”

“I guess it won’t,” Bernd admits quietly and sits up as well. “But, see what happened earlier. I would—we could have—” he trails off. “Fuck knows what would have happened if I didn’t stop.”

Marc lets out a sigh. “I could have stopped you,” he says, blinking slowly. “But I didn’t.”

This is crazy… they’ve both gone mad. Bernd racks his brain for something to say, but he can’t think of anything that makes sense. “This is fucking confusing,” he finally says.

“Hell it is,” Marc agrees.

“And _you_ of all people,” Bernd says again. “I thought if I—for some reasons—wanted to hook up with a teammate, it definitely wouldn’t be you.” _No offence._

Marc is looking at him, his lips pressed in a tight line. “Would it be Julian Brandt instead?”

“What? No way,” Bernd replies with a frown. “Julian is my friend.” Marc is still watching him, but the tension around his mouth is gone. “But that’s not the point. This thing—us—it’s not right, I’m… we’re losing our minds. I don’t know if the pressure has gotten to us, or whatever, but I can’t… not you… I can’t feel this way about you.” _I spent eight years trying to ignore your entire existence._ This is not even funny.

Marc is quiet for a moment. “What’s so bad about it?” he asks, making Bernd wince.

“I’m sorry?”

“That we find each other attractive and want to—as you said—hook up. I don’t see why it should be a problem, if we both want it,” Marc says, with a shrug.

Bernd looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you serious?” Thinking about it is one thing, hearing it is a completely different matter. “Marc, this is _us_ we’re talking about.”

Marc doesn’t even flinch. “Yeah, I know. I always thought you couldn’t stand me. But the other day you were so nice to me, for a change,” he pauses, lowering his gaze for a long second before looking back up at Bernd. “All I’m saying is if we both want this, then why not?”

_Actually, yeah… why not?_

Neither of them is in a relationship at the moment, and a little bit of fun won’t hurt anyone. Maybe it will relieve the tension between them. _But, this is insane. Marc-André ter Stegen of all people: the person who’s made his life harder since U17._ The fact that Bernd is even considering it makes his stomach twist with embarrassment—and something else… excitement... whatever.

Marc is still waiting for his reply, so Bernd takes a deep breath and says, “I don’t know… I mean, yeah I want this—you—obviously. But, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

The disappointment is apparent in Marc’s eyes, but nevertheless he gives Bernd a faint smile. “I understand.”

And Bernd definitely will regret what he says next, but the words have tumbled out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “But maybe… I will change my mind.” His voice is soft, almost inaudible. “We’ll see.”

Something flashes in Marc’s eyes. “We’ll see,” he echoes. “But no more avoiding.”

Bernd nods. “Yeah.”

Then Marc pushes the covers aside and swings his legs out of bed, only wearing his black boxers. When he slightly bends over to retrieve something from his suitcase, Bernd’s gaze is glued to his exposed back and… backside, that’s very nicely accentuated by the tight boxers. _Holy hell._

“I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

When Bernd doesn’t reply, Marc turns around. His lips curve into a smile as he sees what has made Bernd distracted. “Bernd?”

“What—oh yeah, sure,” Bernd quickly says, forcing himself to look at Marc’s eyes instead of his chest. Or lower.

Marc looks at him for a moment before walking towards the bathroom; like before, he doesn’t close the blinds. Bernd holds back a groan that is so close to escaping his throat. He turns his head around, but the mental image of the water dropping down Marc’s back is enough to make his lower body twitch. Painfully. He flops down on the bed, burying his head in the pillow.

It’s going to be a long week.

~*~

The next days are literally hell. There are a couple of times where Bernd is just a fraction away from giving in. Marc never does anything obvious nor drastic, but his lingering glances and the occasional brush of his hand against Bernd’s side when they’re lying in their bed at night are more than enough to drive Bernd insane.

The things that hold him back are his pride, and the match against Slovakia. His debut for the _A-Mannschaft_. It’s really important, more important than this irrational lust for his biggest competition.

He’ll play in the first half, and Marc in the second half. Bernd can already see the headlines; the unforgiving comparisons. Of course, he’s used to it by now. Saying that the media loves their rivalry is an understatement, surely they will eagerly wait to see which one of them makes more mistakes. _It’s not gonna be me._

The atmosphere before the game is both tense and exciting. It will also be a debut for the two Julians and Joshua. Bernd gently pats Julian’s shoulder before they’re going out to line up. Julian smiles and gives him a quick hug. If he’s nervous, he hides it well. After hugging Karim, Bernd walks to the door. He passes Marc, who’s standing near Sebastian.

“Good luck,” Marc says with a smile, sounding genuine.

Bernd nods curtly, holding his gaze. He doesn’t smile back. “Thanks. You, too.” _But I’ll make sure I’ll do better than you._ He knows Marc gets the unspoken, because his face slightly darkens, but he says nothing. Looking away, Bernd opens the door and leaves.

~*~

He conceded two. Two _fucking_ goals. The first one was superb, honestly. It went straight into the upper corner, and there was no chance that Bernd would be able to save it. The second goal was more debatable. Some would say he should have been able to save that one, and others would probably blame the defence for being late. But either way they lost, and it was Bernd who conceded two goals.

As he has predicted, he got asked about if he thought he should be able to save them, and the journalist also _nicely_ reminded him that ter Stegen only conceded a goal. _Yeah, although it was a totally basic error that he let the ball through between his legs._ But of course Bernd doesn’t say it out loud. That’s what they want him to say and he’s not gonna give them the satisfaction.

Bernd’s mood has gone from bad to worse the moment they arrive back at their hotel in Switzerland past midnight. He’s exhausted and only wants to go to bed. When he’s about to change, he hears Marc enter the room. Bernd pauses for a second before sitting on the bed, taking his shoes off.

“Is everything okay?” Marc asks softly.

Bernd doesn’t stop what he’s doing. “Sure. Everything’s great,” he replies, although his tone shows the opposite. Marc must have noticed it, because he steps closer.

“It was a hard match, but don’t worry about it too much. We’ve done worse before,” Marc goes on. Bernd doesn’t want to hear it; he hates the gentle tone, the genuine concern in his voice.

Tossing his shoes harder than he should, Bernd turns his head to look at Marc. “And why do you care, anyway? Shouldn’t you be delighted by every mistake I make because they make you look better?”

Marc frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Bernd isn’t going to relent. He needs something—someone to vent his frustration on, and who’s more perfect for it than Marc? “Oh please. I conceded more goals tonight; don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I didn’t.” Marc says, holding his gaze. And… Bernd believes him, but that’s not what he wants to hear.

“Of course. You’re so assured that you’re better than me because you’ve won titles.”

Marc grits his teeth, seemingly starting to lose his composure. _Good._ Bernd needs this. He needs Marc to fight back. “Why are you acting like this? I get that you’re upset but—“

“Oh, do you?” Bernd cuts him off, rising up from the bed. “Even when you fuck up badly people won’t be so hard on you, guess why? Because you’re playing for fucking Barcelona.”

They’re standing close now; Bernd can sense the increasing heat, the anger that emanates from Marc’s body. “It’s not completely wrong, but it’s not my fault, so stop using me as a punching bag,” Marc says bristly. “I just… I never know where I stand with you. One day you want me, the next day you’re pushing me away again.”

Bernd flushes. He can’t deny anything that Marc said, because there is too much truth in them. Marc looks at him. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he says, his voice cold and distant. Then he walks away, Bernd hears him open the bathroom door.

Bernd is standing there for he doesn’t know how long; it can be a few seconds or a few minutes. _What did just happen?_ He feels numb. When he turns around and looks at the bathroom window, everything starts to sink in.

For the first time, the blinds are closed. Whatever happened between him and Marc, it was ended before it even began.

_And whose fault is that?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to end it there... but one chapter to go. :)))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Without further ado, here is the final chapter.
> 
> Warning: it's rather long. xD

Lesson number one: never assume things wouldn’t get worse. That’s what Bernd learns the next morning. He didn’t sleep well and almost has no appetite during breakfast. Marc woke up before he did, and must have had breakfast earlier since Bernd doesn’t see him in the dining hall. In a way it’s a relief, because he isn’t sure he’s ready for another confrontation. But if anything it doesn’t make him feel any better.

After changing into his training gear Bernd walks with Julian to the pitch, and he notices that Julian has been rather quiet. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Julian looks over at him and lightly shrugs. “I don’t make it to the final squad. Jogi told me this morning.”

… _What?_ Bernd stops walking. Julian walks a few more steps before stopping and looking back at him. “Shit... I’m sorry, man,” Bernd murmurs, closing their gap. He hesitates for a moment before putting his hand on Julian’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“It’s okay.” Julian smiles faintly—unlike his usual bright smile. “I kinda expected it, based on last night’s match.”

“It was a difficult match for all of us,” Bernd says, his voice glum. “It wasn’t just you.”

Julian takes a deep breath and gives him another smile; only this time it looks genuine. “I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me, my time will come sooner or later,” he says, looking more like his usual good-natured self. Bernd can’t help admiring his positivity.

“I’m gonna miss you here.”

“I know,” Julian replies softly, tapping Bernd’s arm. “I see that you and Marc have been in much better terms lately. It’s great, I hope you keep it that way—for your own good you know.”

Whatever response Bernd has composed dies down at the tip of his tongue as soon as he hears Marc’s name. _You have no idea_... Bernd mutters a yes, and they continue to walk.

Later he finds out that Karim and Marco don’t make it to the squad either. It was kinda expected with Marco, because of his injury. But Karim? It never crossed Bernd’s mind that Karim wouldn’t go to the Euro. Yes, he has his ups and downs but he’s solid and reliable, more often than not. Maybe Bernd is biased, but should one performance really decide the whole thing? But yeah, it’s none of his business.

The recent events have affected his mood and resulted in lack of focus. He’s done so poorly that Köpke pulls him over after training and lectures him for ten full minutes.

“You’re not yourself today,” Köpke says matter-of-factly. “Whatever is bothering you, get it sorted. Don’t let me remind you one more time about how important it is to stay focus. And we’re just started.”

 _Or what, you’ll send me packing?_ Bernd is tempted to say it, but of course he doesn’t. Despite being a bit harsh, he knows Köpke is right. Team dynamic is probably the most important thing, and he shouldn’t let his personal feelings get in the way of being a good team player.

So he merely nods, and luckily Köpke decides to let him go. As Bernd is looking for Julian, he sees that Marc is watching him. For a fleeting moment their eyes meet, but then Marc turns around and walks away. Bernd sighs. Another reminder of how he’s messed up.

He stands there until Marc disappears behind the fence.

~*~

Evian is nice. Everything about the place is beautiful; from the hotel to the scenery. It’s a good change from their hotel in Switzerland. It’s not that he doesn’t like it, because he does. But a lot of things happened there and turned his world upside down. Bernd is relieved he doesn’t have to see the bathroom window anymore, because the closed blinds will always remind him of how it all went wrong for Marc and him.

The roommate arrangement remains the same, which means Bernd will again share a room with Marc, but it shouldn’t be much of a problem. During the last nights in Switzerland it felt like Bernd didn’t have a roommate, since Marc pretty much ignored him when they were alone. Basically they were like two strangers sharing a room—and a bed. However, Bernd hopes that things will improve in a new environment, even if just a little bit. Besides, the Euro feels much more real now that they’re in France.

On the first couple of days nothing changes, Marc still acts like Bernd doesn’t exist. This is probably for the best. Maybe they can finally go back to where they were before. Does he really want that though…? _Hell yes_. It’s way easier to look at Marc solely as a competition. But even as his mind says it, Bernd knows he’s not fooling anyone. And the guilt he feels for hurting Marc still lingers. So, what is he supposed to do now?

On their first training in Evian, Antonio tore his ACL and has to be sent home. It’s a shock for everyone, because the Euro is so close. Jonathan is going to replace him.

Today Marc is nowhere to be seen on the pitch. He was still asleep this morning when Bernd left their room, so he doesn’t know why. And he seemed okay yesterday. Bernd can’t help worrying about the worst; what if Marc got injured and had to be sent home, too? His curiosity gets the better of him that he goes to ask Köpke about it.

“Isn’t Marc going to train?”

Köpke raises his head to look at him. “No. He’s feeling unwell.”

Oh, that’s not good. But at least it’s not as bad as Bernd thought. Köpke is about to reach for the ball, but Bernd asks again, “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine. He just needs some rest,” Köpke replies, fixing his eyes on Bernd. His gaze is quite questioning to say the least. Bernd quickly realises that he’s being a bit too obvious. He nods and moves towards the goal before Köpke can ask anything.

From some of his teammates, Bernd finds out that Marc is having a severe headache. He’s ashamed that he didn’t know—despite being his roommate. Although he’s certain Marc wouldn’t tell him anything. As they’re about to go to dinner, he decides to go back to their room to see how Marc is doing. He hesitates for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Marc is lying in bed with his eyes closed, looking rather pale and tired. Bernd slowly walks closer to the bed. Then he stands there for he doesn’t know how long, watching Marc and fighting the urge to touch him. He probably would stand there longer if Marc didn’t open his eyes. Their gazes meet for a little while before Marc looks away.

Well, at least he’s awake. “How are you feeling?” Bernd asks softly.

Silence for a second before Marc replies, “Better,” closing his eyes again.

“Good, won’t want to miss dinner, will you?” Bernd tries to joke. Marc doesn’t reply, so Bernd says again, with a smile, “I hope you’ll be able to train again soon, to at least keep Andi off my back. Speaking of him, I asked him earlier about why you didn’t train and—”

“Leave me alone,” Marc says, cutting him off. “Please.”

Bernd’s smile falters. “You want me to leave?”

“Yes.”

There isn’t even a hesitation in Marc’s voice. Bernd deserves this; he shouldn’t be so naïve to think that Marc would let it go just like that. He for sure wouldn’t, if he were Marc.

“Okay, I’ll leave. But please don’t skip dinner,” he says. And then he walks towards the door.

As he places his hand on the door handle, he hears Marc say, “Why do you care?”

Bernd’s hand freezes on the handle. “I don’t know…” he says truthfully. “I just do.”

He waits for a few seconds and when Marc still doesn’t say anything, Bernd opens the door and leaves. About half an hour later, he sees Marc enter the dining room. Bernd can’t explain the relief that’s creeping in his chest; he just knows that he’s glad Marc is having dinner.

_Why do you care?_

He really doesn’t know.

~*~

When Bernd comes back to their room later that evening, Marc is leaning on the bedpost, reading something on his phone. He doesn’t look up when Bernd enters. Well, Bernd's gotten used to it by now. He takes off his shoes and socks, opens his suitcase and pulls a pair of clean boxers.

“I’m going for a quick shower,” he says, gesturing at the bathroom, although Marc is not looking at him. After a split second, Marc nods.

It’s not exactly a rapid shower, but it’s quick enough. Bernd goes back to the room and slips under the covers. “Are you feeling better?” he asks softly.

Marc’s eyes are still fixed on his phone. “Yeah.”

“It’s good,” Bernd says with a smile.

This time, Marc looks over at him, their eyes meet for a while in silence. Marc's lips part slightly, as though he’s about to say something, but then he seems to decide against it. Before Bernd finds something to say, Marc has put his phone on the nightstand and turns off the bedside lamp. After that he rolls onto his side, pulling the covers up to his shoulders.

Bernd watches his back for a moment in the insufficient lighting. But at least Marc didn't snap at him, so... it's a good start. He switches the lamp on his side and closes his eyes.

~*~

When Marc is back on training a couple of days later, Bernd is genuinely delighted—he doesn't even know why. Maybe it's because he uses Marc to measure himself since they are so equal; whatever Marc can do, Bend can do it, too. Preferably better. Without Marc it feels weird, and somehow out of place.

Bernd smiles at him whenever their eyes meet, but Marc doesn't smile back. And although Bernd tells himself not to take it personally, he still feels disappointed. Everything was fine between them, Marc was kind to him. Yet, Bernd had to ruin it. Now he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He thought this distance was better. It was familiar, after all he had lived with it for the past eight years. But no... he doesn't want it anymore. He wants Marc to smile again. _At him_.

After dinner, Bernd sees Marc play pool with Joshua. He's sitting with Jonathan on one of the sofas, watching them.

"Do you want to join them?"

Bernd is roused off his reverie. He turns to Jonathan. "What?"

Jonathan mildly rolls his eyes. "Them." he gestures at the guys by the pool table. "You keep looking at them. Do you want to play?"

"...Okay," Bernd replies, slightly hesitating. But Jonathan has stood up, and Bernd has no choice but follows him.

He's considering what to say to them, but luck must be on his side because as soon as Joshua sees them, he grins. "You guys want to join? Marc definitely needs all the help he can get."

Marc snorts but says nothing. His eyes meet Bernd's for a second before he looks away.

"Right, Bernd can team up with Marc and Jonathan with me," Joshua says. Bernd just realises that he's edged closer to Marc, but—it's too late to do anything now. And Jonathan has taken a place next to Joshua anyway.

"Besides, losers should stick together," Joshua says again in mock sweetness. "Should we skip one turn for you guys?"

"Don't hold your breath," Marc replies.

Unfortunately, Joshua is not wrong. Bernd is not as good at playing pool as table tennis, and neither is Marc, which is why they lose quite miserably. "Fuck," Bernd curses when he shoots the 8 ball into the pocket by accident. He didn't mean to, he was aiming for the 7 ball. And it means they lose—again—for the second time. _For fuck's sake_. Across the table, Jonathan and Joshua shamelessly high five each other.

"Sorry," Bernd sighs, giving Marc an apologetic smile.

Marc is looking back at him. "It's fine," he says, almost smiling back. _Almost_.

They lock eyes until Joshua laughs, breaking the spell. "See what I mean?" he tells Jonathan, who chuckles. Bernd pokes Joshua with his cue stick.

Later on, Toni and Mesut join them, and they are good players, so Bernd's team only loses three to four in the end—pretty much because Toni was fantastic, and Bernd didn't sink anymore 8 ball before the other balls are in.

~*~

They go back to their room almost at the same time. Bernd doesn't want to have a high hope that they are now in good terms again, because they're not yet. Marc still hasn't talked much to him, other than game related things. But, Bernd feels that they're in the right direction, and he certainly isn't going to stop now.

"We'll have a free day after the second match. Have you thought about what you want to do?" Bernd asks in a light, conversational tone as he sits on the bed, taking his shoes off.

Marc removes his watch and puts it in the bedside drawer. "I haven't," he says, now taking off his shirt. "Do you mind if I take a shower first?"

Bernd quickly shakes his head, but then soon realises that Marc is not looking at him. "Go ahead."

Mumbling a thanks, Marc kneels down and opens his suitcase. Bernd rises up from the bed and turns around, watching him. "Do you want to play tennis with Jonathan, Joshua and me? It'll be fun," he says, before he can stop himself.

Marc looks over at him through his shoulder. "I'll think about it," he replies after a split second of silence, averting his eyes back at the suitcase and zipping it close.

He didn't directly say no, it's a good sign, right? "I hope you'll come with us."

Marc says nothing as he stands up, merely giving Bernd a faint smile. Bernd decides to push his luck _a little_ bit further. "You know, I play tennis much better than pool. If Joshua isn't in my team, I'm gonna make him cry. How often do you play tennis? It's quite fun, isn't it, I don't—"

"Stop. Please," Marc suddenly cuts him off.

Bernd can't believe what he just heard. Was he joking? He blinks, looking at Marc with his mouth open. "...Stop what?"

Marc is looking at him, his eyes hard and—cold, with no trace of warmth that Bernd often sees in them. "This," he says, "being nice to me, as if you _care_."

 _What is he talking about?_ It takes a moment before Bernd understands. But before he can say anything, Marc goes on, "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but whatever it is I'm not interested. You've made yourself clear that you don't want me, so let's keep it that way." Then he strides to the bathroom, leaving Bernd alone and dumbfounded.

Right... Bernd can't say he doesn't deserve it. Although he really thought things were improving between them. What is he supposed to do now? Drop it and forget? But, he doesn't want to. He wants this—he needs this. He has no idea how long he's been standing there, lost in his thoughts. Then against his better judgement, Bernd walks towards the bathroom door and pushes it open.

Thick, warm steam fills the bathroom, making Bernd feel slightly light-headed. Although maybe the steam is not the only reason why. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest as he sees Marc standing under the shower, doesn't seem to notice the intrusion yet. Bernd walks closer, one step and then two more. Just as he opens the glass door, Marc turns around.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Marc asks, turning off the tap. He brushes some wet hair off his face and glares at Bernd.

Bernd gulps at the sight of water drops cascading down Marc's neck and chest. He looks up to meet Marc's questioning gaze. Without the running water, he can hear their breathing.

"Bernd?" Marc asks again, his voice now less menacing as he seems to have realised the state he's in. But he makes no move to cover himself up.

"I don't know..." Bernd finally finds his voice again. "I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is—I want this. _You_. I want you."

Before he can think straight, Bernd steps forward into the shower cubicle. Marc's breath hitches but he doesn't move. Bernd puts his hands on each side of Marc's face and kisses him—devouring him is probably more like it. His blood rushes, the feeling of Marc's wet body against his own is fucking intoxicating. He can feel Marc's hands roam all over his back, and just then his clouded brain realises that he's still fully clothed. It begins to be a bit unpleasant, the way his damp shirt sticks to his skin, but it's nearly impossible to think when Marc is sucking his tongue like this.

A moan escapes Bernd's lips, being swallowed by Marc's mouth. Desperately he presses Marc against the wall and grinds their hips together. It's hot, overwhelming and so intense, and Bernd is quickly losing his mind. All the tension since the beginning of the call up has come to a release. At this point there is no holding back. They both need this.

Bernd bites back a groan when he feels how hard Marc is. He pulls back a bit to take off his clothes, and as soon as he's completely naked Marc wraps a hand around his equally hard length. _Oh._ "God, Marc..." Bernd gasps. Their breathing echoes in the heated cubicle, getting more and more erratic by every second.

"We can't... no marks... fuck," Bernd tries to sound coherent and fails as Marc kisses his neck, and at the same time brushes on the tip of Bernd's erection with his thumb.

"I know," Marc replies in a rough voice, crashing their lips back together. He playfully nibbles at Bernd's bottom lip before licking it, driving Bernd crazy.

Bernd reaches down between their bodies to curl his fingers around Marc's length. It turns him on so bad, how Marc struggles to keep his eyes open. He leans forward to kiss him again, and again, until the maddening sensation in his stomach becomes too much and he falls into oblivion.

~*~

Even before he opens his eyes, Bernd's heart skips a beat as he feels Marc's lips on his neck, trailing down the curve of his shoulder. He turns around and pins Marc down in a pre-emptive attack, smiling down on him. Marc's blue eyes crinkle when he smiles back. Bernd finds himself staring at him. There it is—Marc's genuine smile that he's missed. It's finally back.

"Good morning," Marc says.

Instead of replying, Bernd leans down and kisses him, only pulling away when they're out of breath. "Shit, it's almost eight," he says after glancing at the clock. Neither of them seemed to remember to set an alarm.

Bernd reluctantly rolls out of bed, trying to find his boxers until it dawns on him that he didn't wear anything last night. After what happened in the shower, they were too exhausted to get dressed so they went to bed naked. It's a little too late to realise that he's visibly half hard, Marc has seen it anyway. He gives Bernd a smile that makes his lower body twitch—too bad they don't have time to do something about it.

They take a quick shower together, to save some time, and water. Or maybe they just want it. Despite there's no time for anything other than a few wet kisses. When they're getting dressed, Bernd notices that Marc is watching him. "What?" he asks, with a grin. He already wants to touch Marc again; what the fuck is wrong with him?

"Are you going to push me away again?" Marc asks in a gentle, yet wistful tone.

Bernd looks at him thoughtfully. "No," he says, running a hand through his damp hair. Marc is holding his gaze. "I can't promise that I won't be in a bad mood after some terrible games. I really hate to concede, I know you do, too," he goes on, and Marc nods.

"I do."

"But, I won't take my frustration out on you," Bernd says. He means it.

Marc closes the gap between them. "Great," he murmurs, before kissing Bernd again.

~*~

The days passes in a blink of an eye. Before Bernd realises, they've already played two matches; a victory against Northern Ireland and a draw against Poland. The spirit in the team is pretty high when they're having a day off after the Poland match. It turns out that Joshua has asked Manuel to complete the two-on-two tennis teams. Marc seems okay with it, but Bernd feels rather bad because he shouldn't ask Marc before making sure Joshua hadn't asked someone else.

"It's fine," Marc tells him, when Bernd apologises for the third time.

Bernd shakes his head, still feeling guilty. "It was my fault."

Marc sighs. "Will it make you feel better if I told you I didn't really like tennis?"

"No. Because I know you like tennis. I've known you for eight years, remember?" Bernd replies with a frown.

"Well, too bad." Marc gives him a small smile. "Look, don't worry about it, okay? I mean it." Then his voice goes lower when he says, "How about you ditch them and spend the day with me instead?"

Bernd ignores the way his heart speeds up. "What are you planning?"

Marc's smile grows deeper, more provocative. "Just a little bit of this and that."

If only he could... "Tempting. But I can't, I have promised the guys," Bernd says with a sigh, and Marc shrugs. But then Bernd adds slowly, "But maybe... I can finish early."

Marc gives him another smile.

~*~

"You guys are good," Joshua says in awe, when Bernd and Jonathan beat him and Manuel 6-4, 5-6, 6-3. To be fair, Manuel was a really good player with a strong backhand. Joshua on the other hand was fast and his accuracy was pretty good, but Bernd and Jonathan used their height and strength well. So, B04: 1 FCB: 0. _Yeah, nice_.

Bernd tells them he's going back to the hotel, and they all gape at him. "Seriously? It's only ten minutes to two," Jonathan points out. "We can play at least one more game, right?" Manuel and Joshua both nod.

 _Well, shit._ "Eh... I think I'm a bit tired. I'm sure you guys can find someone else to fill in for me," Bernd replies, trying not to sound too suspicious. "See you later, guys." Before they can throw even more protests, Bernd collects his racket and water bottle, and leaves the court.

When he's back in the room, he can't find Marc at first. "Marc?" Bernd calls out. Is he not here?

"I'm here." A reply comes from the balcony. Bernd crosses the room and pulls the curtains back. It turns out the balcony door is open.

Marc is sitting on one of the two chairs, reading a book. "You're back," he says with a smile.

"Did you stay here all afternoon?" Bernd asks, eyeing the book. Why is he not surprised?

"No, I played dart with Jonas earlier."

"And then you came back up here to read?" Bernd raises his eyebrows.

Marc puts his book on the table, looking up at Bernd. "Yeah."

That's... cute. Bernd tugs at his hand, making him stand up and leading him back to the room. He shuts the balcony door behind them and pulls the curtain together. As soon as the curtains are closed, Marc cups the back of his neck and kisses him, running his other hand along Bernd's side. They don't break the kiss until their legs nudge the edge of the mattress. Marc gently pushes Bernd down before crawling on top of him.

"Well, isn't this more fun than reading a book?" Bernd teases. Marc responds by pulling Bernd's shirt up and planting a trail of kisses under his navel and down, down... down, making Bernd squirm.

Marc stops and looks up, his blue eyes darken. "You have no idea."

~*~

"This is a good picture," Marc says a week later, showing Bernd a picture on his phone.

Bernd takes a look. It's a picture of them on the pitch, looking at each other. Marc is grinning at him, whilst Bernd smiles. "It is," Bernd agrees. Honestly... it's a bit weird to see himself smiling at Marc like that. It underlines how far they've come since the start of the training camp. If someone told him a month ago that he'd be this _friendly_ with ter Stegen, he'd laugh at their face, tell them they were mad, and laugh some more. But he supposes life works in mysterious ways. And it's a good picture nevertheless.

After they're done with the fitness training and go to the lounge, Joshua sits down next to Bernd. He scrolls down his phone and occasionally makes comment about what he sees. "Bernd, look at this picture Marc posted. How cute," he exclaims.

It can't be... but it is the same picture that Marc showed him this morning. So he posted it on Instagram. Joshua is still waiting for him to say something, so Bernd gives him a smile. "Yeah, it's nice."

 _Why did he do it?_ It probably doesn't mean anything, only that Marc likes the picture. But what if it means something more? Bernd hasn't really given their new situation a thought. He enjoys this intimacy they share, and he knows so does Marc, but that's it. Once this tournament is over they'll go back to their old, respective lives. Maybe in the next international breaks they can continue where they left off, or maybe not. Although if Bernd is being honest with himself, he's hoping things will stay the same between them... and that Marc wants it, too.

He glances at Marc, who's talking to Shkodran and Benni across the room, laughing at something they say. Bernd is about to avert his eyes, when Marc catches him watching. He holds Bernd's gaze and smiles faintly, only looking away when Shkodran jokingly pokes his arm. The corners of Bernd's lips curve into a smile.

Maybe he's not the only one wanting this after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. <3
> 
> Come and cry about Steno with me on Tumblr [here](http://simple-and-pure22.tumblr.com/).


End file.
